


Toymaker

by breakofday



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, hobbit - Fandom
Genre: Gen, I cried writing this, Why do I do this to myself, at least there's a kid in it, bofur feels, now i'm going to put you through it hahaha, sad things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:38:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakofday/pseuds/breakofday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post BOFA. Bofur goes into his workshop for the first time in ten years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toymaker

The once bright red door was not quite as enchanting as it had once been. Bofur paused in front of it, frowning slightly as he ran a calloused hand over the wood. The paint had faded and started to peel.

It was with great trepidation that he slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open. All was dark inside, illuminated only by the light of the candle in his hand. It had been years since he’d opened this door. All the shelves were coated with dust and cobwebs, and the toymaker sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Setting the candle down, he picked a small, unfinished toy off one of the shelves and gently brushed the dust off. It was one of his little soldiers, though this one he hadn’t quite finished. He’d never gotten around to doing the detail work on the face or painting it. He’d made hundreds of the little soldiers in his time, all given to different children.

He crouched down and smiled as he pulled out one of his most favorite creations. The ornately crafted castle was nearly two and a half feet tall, perfect for young dwarrows to play with their soldiers. Even in the dark, he remembered exactly where he’d placed the button to activate the mechanism for the drawbridge. His finger pushed against it carefully, and he beamed like he once used to as the gears began to rotate, lowering the drawbridge. It wasn’t quite as smooth of a movement as he would like, but that it still worked after all this time was a wonder.

He’d built the castle with two particular young boys in mind. Fili and Kili had a knack for adventure, and there was many a day when they would wander into his shop, their eyes bright with excitement and wonder.

The toymaker’s heart clenched painfully, remembering when he had first presented them with the castle on their birthdays. They had been delighted with the gift. Fili had shaken the toymaker’s hand solemnly while his brother had wrapped his arms around Bofur’s neck and kissed his cheek.

And then promptly demanded more toys. After all, what’s a castle and soldiers without creatures to fight?

The toymaker ‘s smile was sad as he straightened up, moving to another shelf. A troll, a bear, a scarlet dragon…he remembered making each one, taking the chunk of wood in his hands and carefully whittling a life into them. Making toys was his passion. The only thing he loved more than his job was the children, Fili and Kili in particular. He missed those days long ago, when Kili would climb into his lap and watch him work, only to fall asleep in his arms. There was one time in particular, with the boy fast asleep on his shoulder, that the toymaker had carried him home to his mother, only to find he’d had an argument with his brother earlier that day and ran away. He remembered how very warm he had felt to realize that it was to him that Kili had ran to for comfort.

The boys had grown, and as the shelves moved further back into the workshop, the objects they held began to reflect that. Now instead of children’s toys, they held more practical things, but just as carefully and lovingly crafted as anything else. A wooden sword and shield, a few shabby arrows, a puzzle box or two…

He hadn’t realized until now how much of the things he had made were intended for Fili and Kili. Each object he made was built on order or on a personal whim. Much of what he had made was scattered about the town in various homes of children now grown up, the toys given to the next generation after them.  But here in his workshop, these were the toys he had given on condition that they be returned to his shop where they would stay safe when playtime was done. These were the toys that were given, not sold.

He had only sold a toy once to Dis, when Fili and Kili were infants. But the boys and their mischievousness reminded Bofur much of himself as a child, and he’d built the rest mostly just because he wanted to.  

Slowly, weighed down with memories, the toymaker moved to his workbench, blowing off the dust. A lump rose on his chest as he picked up the little figurines he’d last been working on. It was the boys, just as he’d seen them last as young adults, ready to take on the world. Fili, with his blond hair and blue eyes, braids and all, leaning against nothing in that cocky sort of swagger he’d had from childhood. And beside him, his brother, dark hair and dark eyes, no beard but stubble, captured mid-run.

Bofur gripped the figurines tightly, bringing them to his chest and bowing his head. Grief swallowed him up and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Deep, racking sobs burst from him, and for a long while he sat alone until his candle burnt out, aware of nothing but the horrible absence of two that had meant so very much to him.

“Papa?”

A little voice called, and Bofur looked up. His youngest daughter stood in the doorway, twirling one of her braids around her finger and looking up shyly at him. He smiled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and gesturing for her to come in. The little girl crept into the room, looking around with amazement at all the toys. She’d never been in here before. None of his children had.

“What are those?” She pointed to the figurines in his hands, and after a pause, he held them out to her. She reached for them excitedly, but at the last moment he pulled back, hesitant. She blinked up in confusion at her father.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said with a sad smile, ruffling her hair. “We don’t play with these ones.”

He straightened up and set the wooden Fili and Kili on his workbench before lifting the little girl into his arms. “I want to play with the toys,” she told him with a pout.

“You will, my love,” the toymaker promised.  “You and your brothers too.”

It had been ten years since he’d touched his whittling knife. Ten years since he’d entered his workshop. Ten years since the Battle of the Five Armies, where the lads had fallen defending Thorin. But maybe it was time to stop grieving. He had four beautiful children that he loved dearly, the family he’d always wanted. He’d been living in the past, held back by the loss of the boys he’d counted sons, but he had three of his own now and one small daughter.

Bofur would never forget Fili and Kili. But he could show his love for his children just as he had shown his love for the boys.

He hesitated a moment before picking up a block of untouched wood and handing it to his daughter to hold before picking up his whittling knife.

“How ‘bout I _make_ you a toy?”

A very serious, contemplative look crossed the small child’s face. “I want a warg. The kind that eats elves,” she said finally, and Bofur laughed.

 

The next day, he left the figurines on Fili and Kili’s graves.


End file.
